


Simple Observations

by MindtheGap



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, His Last Vow, M/M, Mr. Holmes POV, Parent Observations, Season/Series 03, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindtheGap/pseuds/MindtheGap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you live in the Holmes household you learn to accept that the amount of intelligence you have is your greatest attribute. Yet, I know I am a simple minded man who allows the whirlwind of my wife and boys to run its course, because I am allowed to sit in the background, to observe that matters that they might not catch immediately.  These are my observations of the Christmas my sons slipped sedatives into our Christmas tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Observations

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at writing a Sherlock Fic. Unbeta'd. Not Brit-picked.  
> All mistakes are my own.

The first thing I must ask of you, is to understand that I am aware of my limitations as a man both mentally and most especially physically. The first is constantly highlighted when speaking to either my wife or sons. Please, do not concern yourself with pity or concern that I am underestimating my own abilities; of these I am most aware and comfortable. For it is not a necessity for me to be a genius. This house has seen enough mental aptitude and had its foundations shaken by the vociferous battles between my boys.  
I am a simple man.  
I have led a blessed life. My quite brilliant yet mad wife not only continues to love me after nearly 50 years, gave me two courageous, intelligent, and emotionally inept sons. My boys know that I am a quiet and simple man. I know they become flustered by the need to slow down their processing to keep me in the loop, yet I still find myself taken aback by how much like their mother they are.  
I could spend hours sharing the little details that make my family warm and loving amongst all their cerebral presence, but that is not the reason you came to me. I know, as does my wife, that my boys-mainly my youngest- forget that I may be simple minded, but I am observant as I stand behind my three geniuses.  
And I do observe.  
I heard the strain in Myc’s composure when he called to warn us away from the papers leading up to and following Sherlock’s faked suicide. I saw the slump in my wife’s shoulders as she declined that lovely landlady’s offer to attend the funeral; the chance to meet those who love our son who believes himself unlovable. I saw the slipping composure in his signature on the few pieces of post we received while Sherlock was off running around the continent after that psychopath.  
But none of these were as telling as the moment my wife hung up with Myc. The pull of her shoulders as she turned to look at me attempting to counter the nonverbal message that her bittersweet smile gracing her tear stained face shared. The whispered words saying that Sherlock had placed a bullet between a man’s eyes meaning little as she stared at me looking for confirmation that we had done right by our boys.  
When Myc returned to the house with John to collect Mary, I could see the heaviness weighing on my eldest boy. So much like his mother: intelligent, sharp, fiercely protective of those worthy of his attention. And so completely obvious to me. The way he and John separated from one another as they walked into the house, neither looking at one another. John nodding as he met both my and my wife’s eyes before going to collect his wife.  
Myc stood purposefully next to me as he listened to the Watsons in the next room speak with Billy. I caught the exasperated glance as Myc looked towards the helicopter in the yard where my wife was striding towards the slumped shouldered figure of my youngest son between two guards. Whether they are Myc’s men or not, I’m unsure, but his Andrea is there so I know that my boy is watching out for his brother.  
“Myc,” I start and watch as his brow rises and simultaneously twitches at the name. “Is this like that awful fall?” A jerking nod is all I receive for my whispered question before I watch my son step forward to hold the door as John assists the slightly off balanced Mary out.  
Really, what more can I expect from an obvious question, but an obvious answer.  
As my wife returns to my side turning to watch our boys take off in a helicopter as the other three guests are taken off in one of Mycroft’s official vehicles, I take her hand and squeeze slightly. She rests her head against my arm and sighs deeply.  
“That idiotic boy.” Her words are sharp as she crosses her arms across her chest, keeping her eyes on the spot we had last seen our youngest.  
“He’s like you in that way.” I offer, knowing this is one of those few times where my observations provide an insight that all the cerebral processing misses. I chuckle as she makes a distasteful noise.  
“Yes. In love with a man with no sense of style.” She smiles as our gazes meet.  
“Well, I think John has a rather sensible style. Either way, Myc will look after those two.” Of this I am certain. Things will work out, especially if my boys are able to have a say in the outcome. As I turn to put the kettle on I cannot help but chuckle at my love’s petulant nonsequitor.  
“Well he better after having me house that woman who shot my boy and not even let me add the sedative to her tea.”  
And that’s what you came here for. To get an understanding of how such a simple minded man can find such pleasure and ease in life surrounded by three geniuses. How I am able to provide a missing aspect to my family and how I notice more than my boys like to admit.


End file.
